Nice
by Beeka
Summary: Draco Hermione. 'No one is nice. After all,everyone has a dark side. You most of all. “Pleasant or pleasing or agreeable in nature or appearance”. That is the definition of nice. No one is nice.' Oneshot


**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or events that occur in this fiction. They are all property of JKR, to whom I am eternally jealous! (but in a nice way). **

**Author's Note: Okay, so this is just a one-shot; do not expect or ask for any sequels. I just decided to write this because, although I have another twenty stories- and piles of homework- to be finishing off, I was bored and decided to write something different with little-to-no plot. So, here it is! Read on, and PLEASE review! Smiles sweetly. Cheers n huggles,**

**xBekix**

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** Nice**

"That's nice." I say.

You shake your head.

"No, It's not _nice_, nothing is ever _nice."_ You say in response.

You look thoughtfully at me, and I at you, our eyes connecting and understanding.

"I guess you're right." I say finally.

I smile nicely, and we kiss nicely; your nice hot body rubbing nicely against mine. One could say the whole relationship is nice… but like you said, nothing ever is.

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I don't like the way you're looking at me from over there. With that _look_ in your eyes that you have so often whenever I catch you watching me. I don't like it because I fear what emotions lay beneath the swirl of your grey steel orbs.

I fear what might happen if I find out these emotions, as the one thing I fear most of all, is being alone.

With a look like that, anyone would think you were plotting something.

You should really be more careful; who knows who else might be looking at you.

I try to pretend that I'm not.

I wouldn't want you to think that I have any real feelings for you.

After all, I told myself I could never feel anything but hatred towards you.

And I should stick to that.

Otherwise, what was the point in saying it in the first place?

I cannot have feelings for you; at least not_ nice_ feelings.

_Nice_. It's a strange word. What does it describe? You can't call a _person_ nice, as that it a bit of a bland expression to describe a human being.

No one is _nice_.

After all, everyone has a dark side.

You most of all.

"_Pleasant or pleasing or _agreeable in nature or appearance". That is the definition of nice.

No one is _nice._

Pleasant or pleasing or agreeable in nature. Hmm, that certainly would never do to describe you then.

You are neither pleasant, pleasing _or_ agreeable in nature. You are cold, callous and insensitive.

You would never do to be called _nice._

Why am I pondering this thought so deeply?

What the fuck do I care if you're a heartless bastard? If you're nice or not?

You certainly are not nice, and it would never be doing to be even considering that you are. You would be offended by the thought anyway.

You like being known as evil. You love living up to your Slytherin reputation.

It would never do to be known as the _nice _guy. But maybe it would comfort _me_ a little if you were. After all, Harry and Ron: some would call them nice. Not that I have feelings for them though. Least, not the same sort of feelings I have for you.

Maybe it's because you _not nice_ that I feel this way towards you.

Maybe it's because you are so completely oppositely contrasting to anything remotely _nice, _that I cannot go through a day without having spent at _least_ twenty-three hours thinking about you, and how _not nice_ you really are. And what _un-nice_ feelings you provoke in me.

The other hour of course I spend _with_ you, shagging your brains out, so could that be counted as part of the "thinking about you" time, as, to be completely honest, my brain pretty much turns to mush and I cannot think of anything at all apart from how much I want you inside of me, or how your burning skin ignites sparks to fly between us so forcefully.

I am sat here, thinking so aimlessly about you, that I forget what drove me to it in the first place.

Oh yes, I remember; you're still staring.

I do not break eye contact with you, for that would mean I would lose yet again. It's like an unspoken war between us; who ever dares to look the longest will win, and show how powerful they are by scaring away the other.

I haven't won yet.

I was thinking though, would I be considered one of the _nice girls_?

You know, the sort that you wouldn't be ashamed to bring home to your parents, the sort who doesn't wear revealing clothes, wears little to no make up, has a natural hair colour, gets down and studies; aiming for a good job and then ends up looking after three kids and cooking her husband's dinner for the time he gets home from work of an evening?

Would I be that person?

Most probably.

But then, maybe that's the problem.

I _am_ nice and you certainly are _not_.

I'm not the sort of person _you_ could bring home to meet your parents; they'd kill me, and you for getting involved with me.

But then I guess that makes it easier for me to start hating you again.

I have reasons.

Good reasons.

I would be literally murdered if anyone found out we were involved.

Not that we really are _involved_; we just meet up now and again for a quick shag.

I suppose we are involved in some ways, but not the way I always imagined I would be involved with a guy I tend to shag on a regular basis.

Never mind though; at least I get to have you in some way.

It's better than nothing.

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You stand abruptly, shaking me out of my pleasant daydream that was evoked from staring at you so contently chatting with your friends.

Why do you walk this way though? You know how hard I try to resist you during the day, why can't you walk the other way and take away temptation?

But then you never were very nice, were you?

You slow as you approach where I sit with my friends in the Great Hall.

You are not welcomed at the Gryffindor dining table, what the hell are you doing?

Walk away Draco; don't do this. I've only recently rid the ache between my legs for you; don't get so close as to make me desire you so wholesomely again.

You stop behind me.

I cautiously turn to face you; a room full of curious students turning their heads to look at this strange display from the ice prince of Slytherin himself, coming over to the Gryffindor table, more specifically to one of the golden-trio of the seventh year.

I am as curious as the others to know what you want over here; but maybe I have the inside track, after all, I was the one shagging you endlessly only last night.

Our eyes connect simultaneously as I slowly look up into your piercing grey steel stare.

I search far and deep into your glacial orbs for an answer as to why you're doing this, in front of everyone, playing with my feelings.

"Granger, Snape would like to see you in the dungeons once you've eaten." You drawl viciously, as if my mere presence is enough to make you retch.

"Fine, I'll be down in a minute." I reply; sounding irritated by you standing so close.

I pretend to look disgusted at the sight of you standing so close, when really my heart is beating so fast at the mere smell of your spicy cologne.

Beating at the memory of last night when your hot sweaty skin got under my own, and the delightful smell of that rich cologne overtook my senses in between the blissful ecstasy of orgasm.

You hover over me momentarily; I see thoughts forming, words waiting to spill.

But then your eyes meet mine and you decide it best not to stay for too long. People might get suspicious. So I watch you walk away.

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I quickly take another bite from my toast, claiming to my friends that I am full, and that I wouldn't want to get into trouble with Snape for turning up late, so I stand, hurriedly pulling my bag on my shoulder, and almost running out of the hall just waiting to be alone with you.

When I exit the grand hall, you are stood leaning in a small alcove to the side of the corridor.

Why do you have to look so _nice?_

It pisses me off; you know that? You're always so goddamned perfect. It's just not helpful in a world where we're supposed to be enemies! You are not a nice guy, and it is not nice that you evoke such feelings just from that smouldering smirk you hold on your face as you see me come to you from the large doors of the Great Hall.

That smirk which used to piss me of because I hated you. Now it pisses me off because I _can't _hate you.

I walk over to you slowly, drawing out our time apart; attempting to show my strength without you. I guess I blew that one though when I practically sprinted out the hall after you.

When I reach you, your smell is just as sweet and strong as when you stood over me at dinner, as when you fucked me on your silver and green silk sheets last night.

Your smirk drops into almost a smile when I get to you, and you pull me in for a deep kiss in the shadows of the alcove.

"Come on, let's go to my dorm." You say, as our faces are still only a breath apart, and you lead me down to your private head boy's dormitory.

It's nice in here.

I like the contrast from the happy yellow and red Gryffindor colours that I am constantly forced to recognise as _nice. _I like the jade green drapes that compliment the silver décor and the emerald sheets. I like the comfort the room brings me of knowing that_ I_ am possibly the only other person to have entered your private room. It's _nice._

You quickly set to work at dishevelling my clothes; first my robes, then my white blouse. Equally as eager, I loosen your tie and unbutton your shirt, and continue to roam my fingers over your bare chest. Your skin is smooth and warm to my over-worked fingers; cold from the chill in me, caused by the knowledge of what I'm doing here again, with you.

It's nice to know that I can seek solace in you, for I know this secret we share is shared only between us, not any of your egotistical housemates, or my over sensitive friends. It's nice that the one thing that we both yearn for… is each other. For that means we will ever be connected

My clothes and yours in a pile on floor, we clamber together over to your bed, where the smell of our sex from last night still lingers on the covers. It's nice, that smell, it reminds me that it is all real.

"Draco," I begin, but become hesitant. I don't know if I should tell you what I intend to.

You look at me expectantly, so I risk it all. I say it.

"I think I love you." I tell you in panted breaths as your tongue licks over my bare skin, roaming all across my wanting body.

You look up now, and stop your movement as you look into my eyes.

You smile. What are you smiling at? Did I fall for it? Did I actually believe you would understand my feelings? Stop smiling and tell me what the fuck you're thinking!

"Y'know Granger, I think I love you too." You smirk, but not in a malicious way. In a loving way. It's nice.

"That's nice." I say.

You shake your head.

"No, It's not _nice_, nothing is ever _nice."_ You say in response.

You look thoughtfully at me, and I at you, our eyes connecting and understanding.

"I guess you're right." I say finally.

I smile nicely, and we kiss nicely; your nice hot body rubbing nicely against mine. One could say the whole relationship is nice… but like you said, nothing ever is.


End file.
